All the Little Things (You'll Miss Him When He's Gone)
by Alpha.Exodus
Summary: Harry is lost in what could have been. Draco doesn't know that it's his fault. How do you deal with unrequited love when you've been with that person for an eternity? You make them love you back. Post DH, non-epilogue compliant.
1. An Important C(h)ase

**Title:** All the Little Things (You'll Miss Him When He's Gone)  
**Author**:  
**Pairing(s)/Character(s)**: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione  
**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Rating**: M  
**Warnings:** Sexual situations, depression, character death (major)  
**Word Count**: 3k  
**Author Notes**: I have had many inspirations for this piece. Authors include Sara's Girl, firethesound, and a story I once read for another fandom that I have since forgotten the name of (but which was based on a movie). This story is a bit hard to quantify at first, but I wanted to write my own spin on an idea. I'll hopefully be posting the second chapter within a week or so, so hopefully everyone will be able to get a better sense of how the story will go after that. Also, please don't be too scared by the CD warning—it'll be fine!

Thanks to calypso-mary for beta-ing this for me. I'm quite excited for the story, so hopefully updates will not be infrequent. No warnings apply for this chapter. Please leave feedback if you would like!

~alexa;xoxo

Chapter 1: An Important C(h)ase

Harry's wand buzzed in his back pocket. Shit. He hurriedly stuffed the last of his mincemeat pie into his mouth, throwing down his silverware and grabbing his work robes off the back of a chair. Calling Kreacher to come clean up, he hurriedly shrugged on his clothing, grabbing a large folder and running out the door to Disapparate.

The Coma Epidemic, as all the papers were calling it, had been a devastating blow to the morale of the Auror department for almost four months now. Harry was the lead investigator for the case, the best they had, and even he was stumped.

It had started in late January. The department had gotten a call from St. Mungo's about a patient who was in a coma. That type of affliction was not abnormal for the Wizarding hospital, but the events surrounding it were.

The patient was a young female, a year out of Hogwarts. She was healthy, fit (she'd been a Chaser for Hufflepuff), and overall a very normal girl. The coma had come out of the blue: her parents had come home from work to find her on the couch, asleep. It was when they were not able to rouse her that they became worried. After almost half a day had passed, they had rushed her to St. Mungo's, where they did as many scans as they could think of.

No brain trauma. No curse markers. No physical injury. No abnormal magical signatures. No blood defects. She was breathing normally, and she didn't look pale or oxygen-deprived. They kept testing and testing, and still nothing was showing up. Even Muggle methods showed nothing.

Days passed. It was almost a week after the girl had been admitted when another case was found.

After that, they started popping up more and more frequently. The sudden comas didn't discriminate by gender or blood; however, no children under 17 had been affected, and two elderly witches were the only ones over 60 to fall as victims. The epidemic spread from the areas closest to London, but it didn't stay there for long, reaching out to the further stretches of England within weeks.

Two months passed. Over 40 victims had been affected, and the Aurors still had no leads. St. Mungo's had been forced to stop admitting the afflicted, as they could do nothing for them. A record was kept of the sick, but they were sent to lay at home with a feeding tube to accompany their sleep.

The Wizarding world was in a panic. There was an insofar incurable illness striking, and no one knew anything about it. How could you prevent a disease that had no obvious causes?

Finally, about a week ago, someone had sent in a tip about the source. An undercover Auror for another case had overheard someone in Knockturn Alley discussing the comas.

"For more dreams than you'll ever need, go to Schneller. He'll be bringing in a shipment within the week."

That was the phrase that the Auror had caught before he was forced to leave the area. He managed to get the information to the department, where Harry had jumped into action immediately.

Shipment… there was to be a shipment. Schneller was almost positively a name, so Harry ran a search for it in the Ministry's Wizarding databases.

There was Schneller, Diane, an eighty-nine year old lady who had worked in Diagon Alley as a shopkeeper for most of her life. She now lived in Hogsmeade and hadn't been back into England for years.

There was Schneller, Humphrey, a man in his forties with five kids and a job at the Ministry. His job had required a full background check to begin with, and there was nothing mysterious about him at all.

There was Schneller, Benjamin, a middle-aged man who worked in the potion industry…

…and owned a large, secluded warehouse. Bingo.

They had set up a stakeout around the warehouse two days ago, with Aurors there around the clock. The wards at both the large building and at Schneller's home were much too extensive to even think about infiltrating. This was by far the easiest way to get evidence on him.

Harry's wand alarm signaled that the Aurors on duty had sensed activity coming from the warehouse, and he had to get there. Fast.

If he lost this lead… He internally groaned. This case had already taken far too long, and tensions were running high in Wizarding England.

He landed in the woods from his Disapparition, about five minutes from the warehouse. Travelling as quickly and quietly as possible, he slinked toward the Auror encampment, slowing when he got close.

"Auror Potter! Thank goodness you're here!" Auror McKinley expressed much too loudly. He was promptly given severe looks from several of the others present. He was new at the job, fresh out of training, and still needed a few reminders about how to act. However, he would be a fine Auror, in Harry's opinion: his instincts when on the chase were some of the best they had seen in a long time.

"Remember to keep your voice down," Harry chastised, mind much more focused on the case at hand. "Now, details. Quickly."

The gathered Aurors hastened to explain the situation. One of the Aurors posted on the left side of the building had witnessed a man of Schneller's stature slipping in the entrance closest to Harry, carrying seemingly nothing but his wand. The group had summoned reinforcements to cover all of the doors, though they were reasonably sure he would come out from the direction that he had come in. He hadn't looked at all suspicious, meaning that it would be highly unlikely for him to have had knowledge of their presence beforehand.

By now, he had been in the building for about fifteen minutes. They had no idea of when he would come out, so waiting was the only thing left to do.

They were well hidden by the trees and shrubbery at the edge of the forest, and there was enough room to maneuver quickly if necessary. Harry deemed it well for the type of ambush necessary. He deliberated pulling more Aurors closer from other sides of the building, but this would put them at a severe disadvantage if their suspect escaped in any other direction, so he decided against it.

"Okay, everyone," he whispered. "All we have to do is catch him carrying something, anything that he didn't come in with. There's a high chance that it'll be a potion of some sort, which should be hard to conceal, since similar types of potions react badly to shrinking or concealing magic and artifacts. So, he'll most likely be carrying it out in the open when he exits the building. He'll have to leave the anti-Apparition wards first, so we should have enough time to reach him and inquire about what he's holding. If he tries to bolt, we have back-up. Stay alert." The others nodded in affirmation, and their messenger was sent to pass the information to the groups at other entrances.

Hours passed.

They had long since transfigured chairs, though Harry had once again reminded them to stay alert even in their relaxation.

McKinley looked worried, so Harry mumbled something about this being a normal situation, which seemed to ease his concerns.

Harry was still highly concerned, though. They _had_ to get him.

Strategies and scenarios flashed through Harry's head at lightning speed. He focused on his different senses in turn, wanting to miss nothing.

Crickets chirped nearby. An owl flew overhead, holding a somewhat lumpy package. The moon shone at half mast, giving enough light to see by and enough darkness to inflate the shadows.

Messengers from other groups came by every hour or so. Ron came by at one point; he had been put on duty for the night, as his outstanding strategizing skills could come in handy. He didn't say much, and neither did Harry. They were both tense about the case.

Everyone in Wizarding England was tense about the case.

Finally, there was movement at the door. The group waited with baited breath, as the suspect walked out, carrying… nothing.

He wasn't carrying anything.

Fuck.

Harry's anger and compassionate roared in that moment; he had been so ready for this to be over and for all of the coma victims to be awoken, because certainly if they caught the perpetrator, they could actually bloody do something—

"Stay here. Follow if something happens," he whispered roughly, and then stepped out of the bounds of the forest, walking toward Schneller. He paid no mind to McKinley's gasp behind him.

As the other man registered Harry's presence, Harry recognized him immediately from the files. This was the man, there was no doubt about it.

"Evening, Mr. Schneller?" Harry said pleasantly.

"Evening, ah, Auror Potter, yes? How do you do?" Schneller recognized him immediately and amicably held out a hand to shake.

"Sorry, sir, I'm on duty right now. No hand shaking allowed," he shrugged. The other man's face fell a bit as he put his hand down.

"It would have been a pleasure to shake the hand of the great Harry Potter… but I digress. Is there a reason you're here at—" he checked his watch—"…ten-o'clock in the evening?" He looked slightly suspicious.

"Just a few formal building registration and business checkups," Harry assured him. "I usually do this sort of thing earlier, but we've been behind lately, so I've had to start working overtime."

"Ah, yes, I saw in the paper that you were heading up the Coma Epidemic case," Schneller nodded in recognition, his face relaxing. "The sooner we know what's causing it, the sooner those poor people will be able to get on with their lives, eh?" He looked solemn for a moment, then motioned toward the driveway of the building. "Hmm, would you mind if we kept walking toward the Apparition point? My wife's waiting at home, and I wasn't supposed to be out late tonight, so she's probably more than a little miffed at me," Schneller scratched his head in an embarrassed manner.

If the man was hiding anything at all, he was incredibly good at it. Harry wasn't picking up any of the usual tells at all, and he had been an Auror for almost ten years. Normally, it was very easy to pinpoint guilt, especially when the subject of their guilt was brought up in conversation. But this man… this man had glossed over it with the air of just an average citizen.

Either he was innocent, or under some other influence, or he was very, very dangerous.

Harry considered Schneller's request briefly, then figured there was no harm. No matter how badly he wanted this case resolved, there was nothing they could do if they couldn't find evidence against their subject. "Of course. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting." They resumed walking. "Could you pull out your business ID?"

Schneller quickly obliged. Harry took it, lighting his wand so he could pretend to study it better. In reality, he was scheming—how could he get Schneller to prove his guilt? He had to come up with a plan, and soon.

"Seems to be in order, sir. Now, have you registered this building in accordance with Magical Business Law, Section 4?" He handed the ID back to the man.

"Ah, no, this actually isn't part of my potions business," Schneller shook his head. "I make the potions in my own basement at home. I was planning to eventually fix this place up, but I have to wait for profits to rise enough, y'know…" He raised his eyebrows at Harry. Harry bristled; there was something off about the hand.

They reached the Apparition point.

"Well, is that all you required, Auror?"

"Ah, yes," Harry affirmed, internally smacking himself. He had nothing. Shite.

"Well, I believe I shall take my leave then. It's a good thing you caught me here! I don't normally come out to this place, and if it hadn't been for some maintenance I wanted to do… It kind of makes me wonder how you were able to find me on this exact night, yeah?"

Harry was still racking his brains for a plan, and though his Auror reflexes kicked in, it was too late to save him from the sudden Body Bind sent in his direction from Schneller.

Fuck!

He could hear the other Aurors running toward them, and he expected Schneller to flee immediately.

Instead, Schneller roughly grabbed Harry, one hand clenching the back of his robes and another on his chest where his robes split.

He smiled gleefully, scarily, at Harry. "I don't know what you're looking for, Potter. But you're sure going to find it, and mark my words, you'll be glad you did." There was a sudden twinge of pain from his chest, but it was gone within the moment.

This whole exchange had taken all of half a minute, and Schneller was gone by the time the other Aurors had gotten close enough to aim spells without hitting Harry.

Ron ran up and undid the Body Bind. "You all right, mate? What was that?"

"I don't know!" Harry shivered, inspecting his chest and finding nothing. He felt fine. He could move easily. Fuck, and he still didn't have any leads. Yes, this man was most likely involved in the case, but even he hadn't been able to tell anything about Schneller from his demeanor, up until the other man had pulled his wand. "Ugh! I thought this was going to be the end of it!" Harry yelled, letting his temper show in a way that he hadn't done for a long time.

Ron roughly patted him on the back, consoling but similarly subdued. "We all did, believe me."

Harry kicked a nearby stump. He saw McKinley watching out of the corner of his eye, and was faintly embarrassed; he shouldn't be acting like this in front of the new kid.

Struggling to regain his composure, he sighed. "Whatever. Let's get back to the office so we can debrief and go home." He started walking to the Apparition point when he was snagged by Ron again.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a bit pale, might want to see the Mediwitch on duty on the way," he suggested. Harry remembered the pain in his chest and nodded. Ron was probably right; he should get it checked out sooner rather than later. There were a number of nasty curses that could be cast nonverbally, though he couldn't think of any off the top of his head that were similar to what he had felt.

"Yeah, all right," he muttered, still extremely annoyed at both himself and the fucking creepy wanker of a suspect.

They and a few others Apparated straight to the Ministry entrances, entering through the toilets and coming into the Atrium. Immediately, they were accosted by the Head Auror and a few others.

"Anything?" Head Auror Atkins asked, but he probably knew the answer even before his question was finished. There was palpable solemnity in the group of incoming field Aurors.

"No. He wasn't carrying anything when he came out of the building," Harry stated, intending to finish the whole story at the debriefing.

"Well _that's_ helpful," came a sarcastic voice from the back of Atkins' group.

Draco Malfoy.

He was working as an Unspeakable right now, and the characteristic dark robes made him look all the more mysterious and brooding.

And, right now, bloody infuriating.

Harry's temper burst again, and he pushed towards Malfoy. Remembering at the last second where he was, he ended up only knocking his arm up against Malfoy's hand, which had raised in defense in the time it had taken for Harry to slow himself down.

He saw Atkins looked on disapprovingly but tiredly, as he too had been waiting for good news, and felt it was okay to at least continue speaking."

"I know you're working on this case with us, Malfoy, but I'd prefer it if you would at least _pretend_ you had some faith in us," he muttered harshly.

Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever, Potter. I'm as tired as we all are. Can we get to the debriefing so I can get some bloody sleep?"

Truthfully, Malfoy was much less aggravating than he had been in school. Years had passed, and in their adulthood, they had been able to interact politely enough. They got along well enough to at least get the job done when they worked on shared cases (which wasn't often). He still frustrated Harry sometimes with his attitude, but both of them had calmed down since their teenage years.

Harry rubbed his temples, feeling a stress headache coming on. "Yeah, yeah, all right," he agreed. The few Aurors who had stayed behind to clean up the encampment came through the entrances, and they were just about to head to one of the meeting rooms when Harry suddenly felt very, very woozy. Woozy enough to sit down, right now.

It was Malfoy, being right next to him, who first saw him go down to his knees. He muttered something about forgetting to see the Mediwitch, then laid down in the floor, right at the edge of the Atrium.

"Potter? Potter! What the hell?" He heard Malfoy say, but the blond's voice was muffled and hazy, and from further off, he heard a muted "Harry!" which must have been Ron.

The last thing he saw was the shine of Malfoy's dress shoes before he fell into the realm of unconsciousness.

xXxXxXxXx

The next morning, the whole of the Wizarding world in England was subdued, for the headlines in the papers had brought the most abysmal news yet.

"HARRY POTTER FALLS TO HIS OWN CASE!"

"COMA STRIKES THE BOY WHO LIVED!"

"IS THERE ANYONE THAT THE COMA EPIDEMIC CANNOT TOUCH?"


	2. Leave Me Alone (With You)

**Title:** All the Little Things (You'll Miss Him When He's Gone)  
**Author**:  
**Pairing(s)**: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, mentions of past Harry/Ginny and Draco/Astoria  
**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Rating**: M  
**Warnings:** Sexual situations, depression, character death (major), swearing  
**Word Count**: 6900  
**Author Notes**: _Sorry this update took so long—it ended up a much longer chapter than I had anticipated, and finals got in the way as well! However, I am still quite pleased with what has come of this, and have already made a start on the third chapter. Thanks again to calypso_mary for her beta work, and for being a fabulous friend! _

_Leave a review if you wish!_

_~alexa;xoxo_

Chapter 2: Leave Me Alone (With You)

Harry woke up.

He opened his eyes blearily, looking around. He was lying with his back to the floor. The assembled Aurors plus Malfoy were staring at him quite oddly. Some looked worried.

"You okay, mate?" That was Ron.

Harry turned, spotted his distinctive red hair, and nodded affirmatively. "Uh, yeah… just got really tired all of a sudden," he mumbled. Pushing himself onto one arm, he attempted to get up. A hand appeared in his face to help him up, and he took it, not realizing who it was until he was already on his feet.

"Do you need to go to the infirmary, Harry? You hit your head pretty hard."

It was Malfoy. Harry squinted his eyebrows at him. Why was the blond calling him by his first name?

"Er… I think I'm all right… We should, uh, get the debriefing done." He really was tired now; he just wanted to go home and sleep.

The assembled Aurors nodded their assent and shifted their way toward the meeting room, but Ron and Malfoy hung back.

"You sure you're all right?" Ron asked. Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by Malfoy.

"He forgot to eat dinner again. Too absorbed in his work," the man sighed.

Okay, what?

Harry looked at Malfoy quizzically. "I ate dinner. I had mincemeat pie… and how would you know, anyway?"

"See, that's how I know you forgot to eat! Mincemeat pie is on the even-numbered Tuesdays, and that was a week ago." Malfoy shook his head at Harry, throwing Ron an "I told you so" look. Harry gave him another confused glare, but Malfoy had walked off briskly before he could say anything.

"Is he barmy?" he muttered at Ron, watching the retreating figure of the blond.

"I'd reckon so," Ron nodded. He didn't sound confused, though, just like normal Ron. "C'mon, then, we should hurry so we can start."

What was going on?

"I mean—" Harry began, as Ron started pulling him to the meeting room. "—He hasn't been stalking me or something, has he? Did you know about this?"

It was Ron's turn to give Harry an odd look. "What are you on about, Harry? If this is some weird sex game, I don't want to hear about it," he flushed, purposely averting his eyes.

By that time, they were in the conference room, and Harry was still supremely confused. The other Aurors were already seated and chatting amicably. Ron took the seat next to McKinley, and the only seat left was between Atkins and Malfoy. Ugh. He didn't want to have to speak to the blond again. If Malfoy really was stalking him or something, he wasn't sure he wanted to know about it, either.

Sleep. Sleep would be good. Everything would make sense again if he could just get to bed.

"All right. It's Thursday, May 26. Debriefing for case number 80501, raid 5, start." Atkins had his magical recorder on and was making the usual introductory comments. The records were also written out by a Quick Notes Quill in the corner of the room, but it never hurt to have more than one copy.

"…General Case group is The Diagon Robbery Series, Lead Auror is Harry Potter, Main suspects are the Curtis brothers, Method-"

At this, Harry gaped at him. "Sir, what are you talking about? This is the Coma-Ep case, with main suspect Schneller!" The whole room turned to look at Harry, and Atkins abruptly stopped talking. "Er, isn't it?" he flushed, both embarrassed and confused.

Finally, Atkins cleared his throat, frowning. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Auror Potter, and if you're making a joke, it isn't very funny. Thousands of Galleons worth of merchandise has been stolen, and we need to stop it, so either you get your priorities straight or I'm reassigning you," Atkins reprimanded.

Harry was getting slightly angry now. He hadn't gotten scolded like that in ages, and Atkins was _wrong. _"I'm not joking, sir! I've been working on the Schneller case for months, and nothing else!" Why was Atkins acting so bloody strangely?

The Head Auror sighed. "That's it, Auror Potter. Infirmary, now. I think you're probably suffering from head trauma after that fall you took. Take a holiday, even. We need you in your best shape, so don't come back until Monday." He stood up, nudging a still-gaping Harry out of his chair. "Go on, now, Potter. The rest of you, we'll finish debriefing when Auror Potter can think straight again."

Harry was practically shoved out the door, despite his protests. Once in the hallway, however, he realized that maybe he _should_ go to the infirmary. Schneller must have cast something on Harry that caused him to have these delusions. There could be no other explanation for the oddities around him.

As he headed toward the Night Mediwitch's office, he went over all of the spells he knew that would cause such symptoms. There were a few that caused delusions, but none that made others seem to act strangely. Maybe it had been one that disrupted his interpretation of speech?

He reached the office, and, after telling her the whole story, she clucked at him and started making the usual scans.

Curiously, they came up with nothing.

"You're absolutely fine, Auror Potter. No signs of magical unrest or head trauma at all. If you're still feeling odd in a few days, go up to St. Mungo's, but rest is probably all you need right now," she fussed about him in a way that very much reminded him of Madam Pomfrey.

Harry's stomach rumbled.

"Have a biscuit," she added, motioning to a tin near the door as she headed to what looked like the stockroom.

Harry got down from the examination bed, stretching and twisting his head from side to side. He didn't _feel_ weird, so maybe she was right. He would be fine once he just had some sleep.

He made his way home, munching on a biscuit on his way out and using the Floo exits in the Atrium. As he whirled out into the fireplace in his room, he was startled to hear noises coming from downstairs. Kreacher wasn't normally up this late—was he getting robbed?

Wand at the ready, he made his way down the hallway as silently as he could. He tiptoed down the stairs and slowly looked into the living room.

Malfoy was there. He was sitting on the couch, fumbling with the papers and muttering to himself.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?!" Harry stalked into the room, pointing his wand at the man.

Malfoy stood up, putting the newspaper on the side table and frowning at him. Harry then registered his attire: he was wearing a t-shirt and boxers, looking very much like he had been getting ready for bed or something.

"Harry… if you didn't want me sleeping here, you could have told me before, you know? I know it hasn't been long, but…" His frown turned into something even more disconcerting, as it looked like he was truly dejected because of what Harry had said.

And what was he talking about, anyhow? Malfoy _must_ be stalking him. And Harry should have _known_ if someone had been sleeping in his house—he had wards up for a reason! Shite, if there had been a breach—he quickly started rooting around in his mind for the ward key, turning to go outside and fix it.

He was stopped by Malfoy's hand on his shoulder. He twisted around to face the other man, furious, planning to yell—

He was utterly shocked when he found himself in the blond's strong embrace.

They didn't move for what felt like eternity. Harry was too shocked to protest.

What the hell was Malfoy doing? For that matter, what was anyone doing? Ever since he had fallen down earlier, the world had been a bit off its rocker.

And he hated himself a little for it, but this… was really nice. Because it had been a long time since he had been with anyone, much less held like this, and he was pretty much a workaholic now and hadn't had time for a lover. Yes, it was Malfoy, but Malfoy seemed to think this was okay and much weirder things had been happening tonight and how was he supposed to cope when apparently the case that had consumed his life for the past month had fallen off the face of the earth?

So he stood there, in Malfoy's arms, and tried not to think about it.

It was warm.

Finally, Malfoy shifted, and Harry tried to find it in himself to be angry again, but he could only feel calmness.

Damn Malfoy. Harry had always been a cuddler, and apparently Malfoy knew to exploit that, because he was slowly grinning at Harry.

Harry had never seen him smile like that before. Smirk, yes. Jeer, yes. But not this wide-faced grin with crinkling eyes and a dimple in one cheek. Stunned again, Harry simply gaped at Malfoy, his mouth hanging open a little.

And then Malfoy kissed him.

No, no, wait. Hold it. Harry pushed against him, hard, and Malfoy stumbled back a little, looking hurt.

"What the fuck are you trying to do, Malfoy?" Harry objected, half angry at the blond (for _kissing _him!) and half angry at himself (for maybe sort of kind of enjoying it—no. He did not enjoy it. This was Draco-bloody Malfoy, and here he was acting like a 15 year old who was excited about getting in anyone's pants, regardless of who they were.)

"Harry…" Malfoy sighed. "Okay. I get it. Whatever happened at work today is scaring your wimpy ass, and you're too fucking prideful to talk to me about it," he spat out. "If you can't let me in, then I'm leaving, Potter. Don't expect me to come back."

"Well… well fuck you, too, Malfoy! Get out of my house!" he shouted, taken aback at the sudden change in demeanor.

As Malfoy pushed past him, grabbing a long coat from the coat rack and stalking out the door, Harry's emotions mixed themselves up as if they were in a blender. Part of him was glad that the man was leaving. Good riddance. Stupid malfunctioning wards.

Another part was still confused. He really didn't know what was going on, and he wished that whoever was pulling this massive joke on him would stop it already. His first thoughts had been that Schneller had put him in a coma, and that he was dreaming, but that couldn't be right. Everything felt way too real. He knew how dreams felt, especially magical dreams; he had long since learned the signs after what Voldemort had done to him. Here, the edges weren't fuzzy, and all of his senses were intact. Everything seemed normal, with only the exceptions of his casework and Malfoy. The Mediwitch herself had discounted his suspicions of any other weird curses.

The last part of him, the one that craved love and affection (and probably sex) really wanted Malfoy to come back. He hadn't been held like that since Ginny, which was, quite frankly, a very long time ago. His lonely self didn't care that those arms had been the arms of a former rival. The rest of him was a little more reserved—yes, he was most decidedly gay, but it was _Draco Malfoy_. Nonetheless, the _want_ tugged fiercely on his heart, and he almost decided to follow Malfoy so he that could make him come back. He forcibly ignored the impulse, however. He had more important things to think about than an odd, deranged, amorous former rival.

He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, deciding as he yawned that he should really get some sleep. Trudging upstairs, he swiftly changed and readied himself for bed, his thoughts still churning. He slipped between the covers, wordlessly flicking his wand to turn the light off.

Malfoy. Atkins. Schneller. Schneller…

Sitting up, he flicked the light on again, Summoning his work bag to his side. He dug through it, pulled the contents out, and finally upended it.

The file on the Coma case wasn't there.

Frantically, he Summoned the file instead (although he knew that doing so was apt to upend the file's contents in the process).

Nothing. Shite. What was going on?

Harry laid down. He tossed and turned for a long time that night until he was able to find sleep.

xXxXxXxXx

Friday morning came, dragging a fatigued and still annoyed Harry from his unconsciousness. He sat up blearily, feeling for his wand and spelling the blinds closed.

Let today just be normal. Please, let this be a normal day.

He figured it wouldn't be too hard to pretend nothing was wrong, since it was a weekend.

He was wrong.

It started almost as soon as he got out of bed, when he looked around the room and realized he had missed seeing things in his exhaustion.

It was very clear that someone else had been sleeping in the room with him. All of his things were there, yes, but there were additional odds and ends scattered about that were decidedly _not_ his.

There was a pair of reading glasses on the (formerly?) unused bedside table opposite his. They were much too modern for him to even think about wearing, much less bought and forgotten about. A coat lay over the back of his chair that he had never seen in his life. Most strikingly, a pair of emerald green silk pants were laying in the floor on the other side of the bed. He gingerly picked them up, and on closer inspection, they were dotted with Slytherin insignias—Oh, fuck.

He threw them back on the floor, banishing them for good measure, and strode out of the room as fast as he could.

Better not to think about it, really.

He spent the rest of the day as he normally spent Saturdays. He polished his Firebolt, ignoring the half-finished mug of black coffee on the table (disgusting) as he returned the broom to its shelf above the mantel. He read a book all afternoon, a fascinating tome on defense tactics that Hermione had gotten him last Christmas (and disregarded the book on the floor that seemed to be about proper pureblood dress). He ordered curry for dinner, paying no mind to the nasty looking pickles in the refrigerator as he stored his leftovers.

It was a normal day, or so he told himself.

Yet, he again climbed into bed at night with uneasiness and confusion in his chest, for it was now undeniably obvious that a certain man had been staying here and eating here and maybe even sleeping in his bed. A thought struck him, and it wasn't long before his curiosity overcame his reservations. Slowly, he rolled over, pulling the other pillow closer and inhaling its scent.

It smelled like the body that had held him just last night—like lemons and tea, with a strongly male scent underlying everything. He breathed it in again, then cursed and threw it away from him, hearing it land on the floor with a satisfying thump.

He was not attracted to Malfoy. He was not attracted to Malfoy. He didn't even like Malfoy.

xXxXxXxXx

The next night, Malfoy was at his door. Harry had been getting ready for bed when he had heard the knock.

He had almost closed it in the man's face upon seeing who it was, but Malfoy had stuck his foot into the opening before he could succeed.

"Please, Harry. I'm sorry for yelling at you. Open the door."

Harry inched the door back open, his distrustful and confused eyes falling on ones that matched his confusion, but had a little sadness attached. He gave a long sigh before allowing Malfoy entrance. Surely, he would regret this.

The blond slipped his coat off, hanging it on the rack. Harry had started shuffling toward the living room when he was pulled into _another_ abrupt embrace.

He didn't feel like resisting. It was making him tingle in a nice way, and it wasn't like a mere hug would hurt him.

_But no kissing,_ he added mentally.

Eventually, he felt Malfoy's head turn, felt his lips against his ear.

"I can't stand being in the same place as Father any more. You might not want me here, but you're all I have for now, Harry. And I know I'm acting like a sop, but please don't push me away again. I know you have trust issues, but you can trust me, okay? I promise." The words were spoken with more tenderness than Harry would ever have expected from Malfoy.

Trust issues, though? He didn't have trust issues, did he? He thought back to his relationship with Ginny. It had been fine, and they had simply grown incompatible. That was all. He was about to deny Malfoy's claim when he thought back to different, more recent experiences.

Turning a man down for coffee because he was sure that he was an undercover reporter who wanted to expose his life for the world to see.

Refusing Hermione's request for him to meet with one of her coworkers on a blind date, because the man would probably end up being another star-struck fanboy.

Purposely avoiding a perfectly shaggable bloke at work because he reminded him too much of Seamus Finnegan (who had been known, back in the Hogwarts days, to have dated several people at once).

It seemed that this weird-Malfoy knew him better than he even knew himself. He pulled away, running his hands through his hair. It was too much. Too much.

"I'm tired," he stated truthfully, purposefully avoiding Malfoy's eyes. He yawned slightly, then turned and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, trying his best to disregard the man who was following closely behind him. He clambered into bed.

He felt the mattress dip beside him, and neither of them said anything. Harry felt the thick, awkward tension in the air, and was glad that Malfoy wasn't trying to touch him.

His sleep that night may have been better than it had been in a long time (but he wasn't going to admit it). And when he awoke the next morning feeling more fully rested than he had in months, he told himself that it had nothing to do with the way that Malfoy's arms were wrapped around him.

"I can tell you're awake, y'know," Malfoy mumbled from behind him, and Harry jumped slightly. "Your heartbeat gives it away."

Harry realized that his heart was indeed thumping quite fast, and he attempted to slow it down (to no avail). He heard chuckling behind him, as the blond shifted closer. It was then that he realized that Malfoy had morning wood, and it was currently pressed against his tailbone.

He jumped out of the bed so quickly that he ended up landing in the floor in an extremely undignified manner. "Shite," he muttered, again avoiding the other man's eyes as he pulled himself up.

"You're so bizarre," he heard Malfoy mutter to his back as he walked downstairs to put the kettle on.

The blond made all of the meals that day (his cooking was surprisingly not half bad), refusing Harry's suggestion for curry ("We eat curry on Wednesdays, you know that!) He sat beside Harry on the couch after dinner and read his ridiculous book on pureblood dress.

Having a holiday was nice, even though it was for a medical leave. Not to mention the man beside him…

"Aren't you supposed to have been working today?" Harry finally broke the silence, closing his own book and looking at the other man. He had thought that most of the Ministry workers preferred to take Sundays and Mondays off, rather than Saturdays. Harry himself had hardly taken any days off, lately—the Schneller case had been all-consuming.

Malfoy slid his reading glasses off of his nose (aha! Harry had known they were Malfoy's), shrugging at him with an expression reminiscent of their school days.

"I'm an Unspeakable. They don't care as much when I come in, as long as I do my assigned work and take enough hours. You know that," he drawled, shooting Harry a sidelong glance. "You really are a bit crazy right now, aren't you?"

"You're telling me," Harry groaned. "I'm having a civil conversation with Draco-bloody-Malfoy…"

"I'm aware. I'm right here, you know," Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him. "Yes, my boyfriend seems to be utterly barmy right now. He's talking about me in the third person, so I should do the same. I wonder if he wonders how delightful his arse looks in those pants?"

Harry paled. The word echoed in his mind. Boyfriend. _Boyfriend._

He hadn't even thought about it, but he supposed that if Malfoy had been sleeping in his bed and staying in his house, then he was his boyfriend and what the fuck was going on, even?

He rested his head in his palms for a moment, before shoving himself off of the couch. "I'm feeling a bit ill, I think; I'll just go—"

"Oh, no you don't," Malfoy stood, grabbing his wrist before Harry could leave. Harry shrugged the grip off, but turned to look at him anyway. "Harry, just tell me when you feel uncomfortable, okay? Don't run away. I'm not going to force anything on you, and if you don't want me to make lewd comments, I won't—"

"Why do you keep talking as if I'm a prude with trust issues?" Harry interrupted, latching onto what seemed to be the most striking thing about the conversation. Besides Malfoy. And the fact that the conversation was occurring to begin with.

Malfoy's lips tightened. "Because you are, Harry," he sighed.

"I am not!" Harry insisted. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"And yet, whenever I do more than kiss you, you flinch like I'm about to hurt you. And damn it, Harry, I want you, but I hate feeling like I'm hurting you!" Malfoy's voice was rough. "Just a few nights ago, you wouldn't even let me kiss you, Harry."

"I know, I didn't, but it's not because I'm a prude! It's because… I'm…" He stopped. What was he supposed to say? He was having an argument about his sex life with a Malfoy who was apparently his boyfriend and he was completely lost. That was it.

"…I'm lost," he admitted, slumping from his previously uptight stance.

This time, when Malfoy kissed him, he was sort of expecting it. It still didn't stop him from pushing away, though, because he couldn't kiss Malfoy. He couldn't.

"…See, Harry? Do you see, now?" Malfoy frowned at him, clutching lightly at Harry's arms. "You get so nervous…"

Malfoy was doing it again. He was telling Harry about things that he didn't even know about himself, and it was _weird._ Because even as Malfoy was talking, Harry was remembering back to when he had been with Ginny, and how she had always wanted sex more than he had. But that was because he was gay, wasn't it? He wasn't asexual—he wanked nearly every day, to thoughts of assorted, faceless men. But he had never been in a relationship with anyone, much less slept with them—it just seemed too inconvenient to bother, when he had work to think about.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

Did he really have trust issues when it came to romantic relationships? Did he really shy away from sex, as Malfoy was insinuating? Harry was startled to find that he honestly wasn't sure.

Thoughts that he hadn't had since his teenage years, about having no one to trust besides Ron and Hermione, rose in his throat, and he swallowed them back down like bile. Fucking Malfoy.

What was he doing, trying to prove himself to the other man? He didn't have to. This was all a delusion or something. He could just walk away, and it would affect nothing in his real life.

But, when Malfoy pulled him upstairs to sleep, he went. And when Malfoy was a little closer to him than he would have liked, he didn't say anything, just to prove the man wrong. Because Malfoy couldn't be right, could he?

xXxXxXxXx

Malfoy went to work Sunday morning, leaving Harry with one last day to try and get his life together. Monday, he would have to go to work and pretend to know what the hell was going on.

He studied the Robbery case. It was quite a doozy, he did admit (though not as bad as the Coma Ep case—nothing he'd seen had trumped that). Extensive wards had been completely shredded or—even more disturbingly—left alone completely while the perpetrators took whatever they wanted. The Curtis brothers were suspected because of their specialty (they owned a ward-strengthening firm). However, after combing over all of the evidence in his file, he wasn't so sure that the feats could have been performed by the two men alone. At least he had something to bring to the table when Atkins inevitably grilled him tomorrow.

He flopped back over the couch, letting the file slide into the floor and resting his head on the armrest. He wasn't in shock over his whole situation anymore, and for the first time since it had started, he allowed himself to contemplate Malfoy—or at least, the Malfoy he had known previously.

The man had been quite a spectacle in the papers shortly after he had left school. He had gotten married to the pretty, pureblood Astoria Greengrass almost immediately after the war ended. Shortly after, she gave birth to a baby boy, and they then divorced just as fast as they had married. Malfoy had then gotten his Ministry job and had stayed there to this day.

Narcissa had apparently looked after Malfoy's child (Snake? Scorpion? Something like that) until he became old enough for Hogwarts; it had been in the papers recently that custody was now being transferred to Malfoy, as per a previous agreement. He could only assume that the man had not wanted the child in close proximity because of his line of work. Unspeakables were notorious for not having many personal relationships, as the information they handled was far too sensitive. There was always the chance that a secret might slip.

Also because of his job, Harry supposed, Malfoy had stayed out of the limelight. His father had been killed trying to escape Azkaban after the war. Malfoy no longer had any reason to enforce his pureblood views, and so he had been able to resume a semblance of a normal life. No one had heard him insult muggle-borns or muggles in a very long time.

It didn't change the fact that he was generally a git, though.

Harry only worked with the man once in a blue moon, so their interactions had been limited. Malfoy still didn't refrain from badgering Harry when the opportunity arose. It never failed to annoy him, though his temper certainly wasn't as quick as it used to be.

His stomach grumbled, and he rolled off of the couch, padding to the kitchen to reheat the curry leftovers. Malfoy honestly hadn't been acting _that_ different. He was still snarky and obsessively neat. The only difference was that now his jabs at Harry had an undertone of playfulness beneath them. It was only a little disturbing.

It would have helped Harry care much less if Malfoy hadn't happened to be such an attractive bloke. They had been together enough yesterday for Harry to have seen most of the man's body (he hadn't _ogled_, of course not). If Malfoy had been just a random man, Harry had no doubt that he would have been featured in many of his wank fantasies. It seemed that Malfoy was wanking to thoughts of Harry, though, and that was quite disconcerting.

That was another thing—he supposed Malfoy was gay, then? He had kept it quite well hidden from the papers, at least. But then, it seemed like Ron knew, so it couldn't be a very big secret.

Finishing his curry, he discarded his dish in the sink, turning to leave the kitchen. Upon hearing the Floo roar in the living room, he groaned internally, then turned back around to wash his plate. Malfoy would throw a fit if he left a mess behind.

The stairs creaked in protest as the man in question made his way downstairs. "I'm done for the day," he drawled loosely, a smirk forming as he leaned on the doorframe.

"For the record, I'm only washing up so you don't end up shouting at me," Harry muttered, putting the plate away. "Why even bother going to work if you're only taking a half day, anyhow?"

Malfoy shrugged, pulling off his dark Unspeakable robes to reveal a simple white dress shirt and black trousers. "Well, we can't _all_ have mental holidays," he said, retreating back up the stairs. Harry stopped himself from remarking that he hadn't exactly answered the question and followed him, watching him fuss over his robes as he hung them in the hall cupboard.

"Besides," Malfoy continued, shutting the door, "we go out on Sundays. Who knows how long it'll take us to get ready?" He turned and winked.

Harry swallowed thickly, internally recoiling. He didn't know what he'd do if Malfoy tried to have sex with him. Besides the fact that he had never slept with a man, it was _Malfoy_, and despite how rather fit the man was, it still felt wrong. Even though they were… dating.

"Erm… can't we stay in today? My head's a little off, still…" he quickly formed an excuse.

Malfoy's mouth twisted wryly. "Oh, right. No need to rush things, then, and since you obviously just ate…" He walked slowly toward him, a smile widening his mouth. It still looked quite bizarre on the face that usually preferred to scowl. "…We don't need to eat until later, so I can take my time with you, Harry." He reached a hand up and ran it along the brunet's face.

This was too much for Harry, who backed up hastily, almost tripping over the umbrella stand. Thankfully, he had figured out how to remove the screeching Walburga Black's portrait from the hall, or they would have certainly been treated with an earful. There was no such distraction, though, only Malfoy and his smile.

"Harry." The name hung in the air between them, rushing past Harry's ears and making them tingle a bit. Of course, that could also be because he hadn't run fast enough, so Malfoy was now very close to him and _wow, he had nice eyes._ But he couldn't give in…

Malfoy's arms were around his waist, his forehead was close to Harry's, and he could taste the blond's breath on his tongue.

"Harry." Again, but in a whisper, this time, and it was electrifying. Harry couldn't remember the last time his heart had beat this fast. The prick was doing it on purpose. He was taking his time, making Harry want it, _want_ to kiss him… Why did the man have to be so bloody attractive?

This time, when Harry felt Malfoy's lips against his own, he didn't push away. He didn't quite kiss back, but he had to at least prove that he didn't have intimacy issues (because he didn't, really).

Little kisses, that's all it was. Little, coaxing touches of Malfoy's soft lips to his. And yet, Harry could still feel blood pooling in his groin, the first stages of arousal in action… He clutched at something, anything, for balance, and settled on the other man's shirt. Of course, that encouraged Malfoy's hands to slide around his waist, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care.

Eventually, Malfoy pulled away to catch his breath. But not too far—his bright blue eyes stayed right in front of Harry's, and Merlin, they were beautiful. He licked his lips and could taste the lingering saliva, could feel Malfoy's arms around him, could smell the same smell left behind on the pillow that first weird night…

Harry couldn't help thinking about his situation, as Malfoy prepared his own dinner. He thought about it as Malfoy snuck a kiss on his cheek while rinsing his plate, and while Malfoy sat against him to finish up a book. And, as the night fell further and they prepared for bed, Harry finally decided what to think about the recent events.

This was too real. Therefore, it must be real, mustn't it? Because there was no way that Harry could be dreaming this up—the kisses, the emotions, the sensations were much too real. Perhaps he had been Obliviated before, or Schneller had cast some weird charm to disorient him somehow. But this was real. And if it was real, then that meant Malfoy was… was his boyfriend.

It was at this point that Harry fell, irrevocably, not in love, but into the trap that had been set for him. He hadn't needed much convincing, anyhow—he had been far too starved for a companion, especially one such as Malfoy (even if he hadn't consciously known it). He would have his doubts later, yes, as the world began to change, but this was the point where he stopped caring. Magic was in the world, so anything was possible… right? Or so he told himself.

It was also at this point that Harry fell unconscious. Fortunately, Malfoy was there to catch him, but this Harry would never know that.

xXxXxXxXx

Draco groaned at the absurd amount of time it was taking for Potter to awaken. Weasley and the other Aurors were puttering about, checking his vitals and whatnot, but Draco honestly just wanted to return to his flat. He had enough to do lately without working overtime, what with Scorpius coming home in less than a month.

It was only that new Auror's (McKinley?) cry of distress that pulled Draco's attention. He glanced the scene over from where he stood, several feet away. The assembled officials, Head Auror included, were circled around Potter, all staring at his perfectly normal vitals…

Perfectly normal.

Oh, fuck. If Potter had caught it—

Finally spurred into action, Draco pushed through the Aurors, casting the one vital-check spell that had been found to indicate the epidemic in any way.

It was positive. Holy fuck.

As much as he hated to admit it, Potter was necessary for this case. Draco had been helping out, yes, but there was only so much he could do without being trained in fieldwork. His specialty was more focused on what magic could be causing the coma, anyway. Neither he, nor Weasley, nor even Atkins had as much knowledge of the case as Potter had, and that made him valuable enough without taking his innate magical skill into account.

Potter had gone into a Coma. They were well and truly fucked.

xXxXxXxXx

They had taken him to Mungo's, but just like every other case, there was not much that could be done for Potter. There had been some debate about where to keep him situated, but it was finally decided that his flat would be fine—there were enough wards to keep out unwanted intruders, and Weasley knew how to key the wards if necessary.

Draco ended up sticking around, and in the aftermath, no one paid any mind to him. There was Molly Weasley, crying over Potter. There was the Weaselette, forlornly shaking her head over "dear Harry" (hadn't they broken up, like, ten years ago?).

Weasley and Granger popped in frequently (and were also the only ones to acknowledge Draco). So, when Draco asked if it would be possible for him to continue his testing on Potter, the two of him gave permission in the unconscious man's stead.

"If it'll help solve the case, it's fine by me," Weasley had said.

"As long as I can help with the research," Granger had added (and Draco had grudgingly agreed).

At least Potter was still contributing to the case, in his own way. The other epidemic victims' caretakers had generally been very insolent and wary about having any non-medical tests run on the bodies, and so it had been quite difficult for Draco to research anything. Now, though, anything was possible. He hoped to be the one to crack the case (or at least the one to find out how to awaken the victims). Besides ending a long and fearful investigation, it would give him a phenomenal status boost in the eyes of the people.

The Malfoys were much less disreputable than they had been directly after the war; his father's death had helped in that regard. Both Narcissa and Draco had been pardoned (partly because of Potter, yes), and society had eventually forgiven them. Still, though, there were people who would spit on his shoes as he walked down Diagon Alley, and he feared for his son. If anything, he wanted to raise his son with the honor and respect that previous Malfoys had held. His child shouldn't be held responsible for his own mistakes.

It would probably have been better to stay married with Astoria, so that Scorpius could have his real mother take care of him. He didn't dislike Astoria, either—she was charming and pretty, and would have been the perfect woman if he hadn't been into blokes. She had originally planned on taking Scorpius, but both of them had been witness to Narcissa's slow degeneration after her husband's death. In the end, it had been agreed that giving Narcissa the child would be the best course of action, helping her get her life back as well as allowing Astoria the freedom to court any men she wanted. They both visited Scorpius, yes, but he was also Narcissa's pride and joy.

He would be glad to have his child back. Narcissa no longer needed him as a crutch, and the boy was now old enough that Draco could take care of him without it interfering with his job. Astoria had remarried a handsome, French pureblood, and was now pregnant with another child.

If it hadn't been for this case, Draco would have been completely ready for Scorpius' arrival by now. As it was, he had been working overtime trying to research possible mechanisms by which the comas could be caused. He would probably be happy no matter who solved the case. He wanted it to be over with.

Having Potter afflicted threw a wrench in both the morale and the case-solving capacity of the department. It really was always Potter, wasn't it? He didn't hate the man anymore, but Potter was still a pain in the arse sometimes. This just happened to be one of those times.

Three days passed. By then, Potter was firmly situated in his flat, with caretakers there around the clock. Someone had to be there to adjust feeding tubes and change his magical waste bags, as well as keep an eye on his vitals. Draco simply began working from Potter's flat instead of going to the Ministry dungeon. Though he didn't appreciate getting stuck with the more menial chores while he was there, it wasn't honestly that bad (thank goodness for magic).

He really hoped that this would all be done and over with by the time his son came home. It would be disgraceful to have to spend less time with his son for_ Potter's_ sake.

xXxXxXxXx

Harry woke up.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see Malfoy, but was greeted by an empty room. Torches flickered dimly on the walls. He was sitting on a maroon, plush chair, and it seemed to be nighttime still. However, he really didn't think he was in Grimmauld Place anymore—

There was a knock on the door. Cautiously, he grabbed his wand from a nearby table as he went to open it.

It creaked slightly as he swung it open, revealing a small girl. Strange. Before he could ask who she was and why she was there, she burst into the room, clutching at his robes.

"Professor Potter! Maya's bothering me while I'm trying to sleep _again_, and I can't _stand_ it anymore! Please please please can I just go sleep in my sister's dormitory? Pleeeeeease, Professor?"

He stared at the little girl, wildly confused, then looked back up into the hallway, the full meaning of the situation dawning on him.

It was, unmistakably, a Hogwarts corridor.


End file.
